


Housewarming

by stjarna



Series: Home is where our story begins [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bus Kids - Freeform, F/M, Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week, Gen, Housewarming, Memories, Post-Season/Series 03, Tumblr: thefitzsimmonsnetwork, Unbetaed - All Mistakes are my own, present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's on the run, trying to put the past behind her, but a message from two old friends brings back memories.</p><p>[Originally posted in the Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week series, but moved to a new series, since I wrote a sequel.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Housewarming

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 (Favorite Scene(s) || Writing Prompt: Present) of Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week Sept. 12-18, 2016 (organized by The Fitzsimmons Network)
> 
> This turned out less Fitzsimmonsy than I thought and yet full of Fitzsimmons.

She is staring at her inbox: one unread message. Her heart stops for a moment when she sees who sent it. She always saved checking the e-mail account for last. Gathering intel was more important when hacking into their system. Usually, there were no messages anyways; sometimes from Coulson; more frequent right after she had left, but far and in-between now that it had been more than six months. The timer in the corner of her screen is ticking down. Just over a minute before it will become unsafe, before they will be able to trace her. Well, maybe a few seconds longer. The timer was based on her own abilities, and she had been the best hacker they’ve ever had. But she wasn’t willing to risk being wrong about that. Nervously, she clicks on the message. Her eyes start tracing the words:

> _Daisy,_
> 
> _We don’t know if you will even read this message; if you are checking this e-mail account. Obviously, you know how risky that would be, but then that has never stopped you before._
> 
> _Please know that this message isn’t intended to get a hold of you. It’s not intended to get you out of hiding. No one in S.H.I.E.L.D. knows that we’re doing this. They would likely question our sanity if they did; leaking personal information to a rogue agent._
> 
> _But it seemed so strange not to tell you. It didn’t seem right to take this step and you not even being in the know._
> 
> _We’re moving in together! The housewarming party is next Tuesday, Sept. 20._
> 
> _Naturally, we don’t expect you to come, but we decided together that we at least wanted to tell you._
> 
> _You’re our family and we miss you. We hope you find your peace and that whatever quest you are on will bring you closure._
> 
> _Love,_ _Jemma & Fitz_
> 
> _P.S. Our address is …._

Her eyes catch a glimpse of her timer when its color turns from black to red. Ten seconds. _Fuck!_ Quickly she hits “Print.” Nervously she watches the last few seconds of her timer tick down. _Five. Four. Three._ She hears the printer in the back of the store suck in a sheet of paper and lets out a sigh of relief. She disconnects, closes her laptop, and heads to the back to grab the printed e-mail. She glances at the text one more time, before folding it up, and tucking it into her back pocket. She leaves through the backdoor; the one she broke into, and heads for her van. No one had noticed. A small convenience store by a road in the middle of nowhere; deserted at night, but maybe somewhat busier during the day. She hadn’t really had high hopes for it to even have a wireless network, but it must have been her lucky day. She imagined a pimply teenager working behind the cash-register on weekends begging his boss to install Wi-Fi in the god damn deserted place just to give him something to do while waiting for customers that passed through every other hour.

She gets into her van and closes the door. She stares at the steering wheel, while her mind wanders off to the e-mail, to Fitz and Simmons. _You’re our family_. The sentence brings tears to her eyes. But she doesn’t allow herself to cry.

She remembers how she first met them; how the three of them started to bond, because they were the babies, the youngsters. Nobody seemed to have faith in their abilities to work in the field. Disgruntled looks from May and Ward, who apparently felt like babysitters. Admittedly, maybe they didn’t exactly proof them wrong in the very beginning, but they certainly were stronger than everyone thought. And they bonded over it. Combining their individual talents gave them strength, made them a team, made them friends.

She remembers how Jemma saved her life after Quinn shot her. Well, she doesn’t exactly remember it, but they told her. Not Jemma herself (‘cause she could be so goddamn humble sometimes), but everyone else spoke in admiration of how Jemma did everything in her power to save Daisy’s life, how she stayed by her side day and night.

She remembers how Fitz held her after she transformed, how he told her that nothing was wrong with her, that she was just different; how he stood by her side when nobody else did.

She remembers the two of them, together; how they’re relationship had changed, evolved, sometimes closer together, sometimes further apart.

She remembers how she couldn’t decide at first if they were bickering like an old married couple or like siblings. But then she had experience with neither, so how should she have been able to tell?

She remembers how it had always amazed her, the connection they had, the ability to finish each other’s sentences.

She remembers how it slowly changed, the way Fitz looked at Jemma, and how broken he seemed after his accident, after she left. He didn’t tell her at first. But then tipsy, slurry Hunter blurted out to her that Fitz had mentioned telling a girl he liked her and her not feeling the same. It became so easy to piece everything together after that. And when she asked Fitz about it—carefully, as not to break him again—he admitted it; told her what had happened at the bottom of the ocean.

She remembers how her heart cringed seeing them interact after Jemma returned from being undercover at Hydra; how they danced around each other, unwilling to talk. She knew that this wasn’t a cheesy chickflick where the sweet boy finally admits to the girl how he feels and she immediately reciprocates. She knew that this was life, and it was complicated, and it sometimes hurt, but seeing how both of them suffered from having their friendship torn apart, broke her heart.

She remembers how Jemma admitted to her that she missed him, that it had been the longest they’ve ever been apart. She remembers hearing something in Jemma’s voice, something that suggested that she hadn’t put his confession behind herself, that it occupied her mind, that she was trying to figure it out; probably trying to find a scientific approach to something that Daisy knew was so very much non-scientific.

She remembers how it broke Fitz again, when the monolith took her.

She remembers how things seemed different when she returned. How it was still complicated, and messy, and painful, but different, different in a way that made Daisy believe they could work it all out in the end.

And then she remembers that day; the day she was willing to die to save everyone else, the day she thought it was her destiny to die, the day she wore the gold cross necklace that she had found in the jacket Fitz had put around her shoulders. And then he—the stupid, lovesick, fucking heroic idiot—grabbed it from her and took the destiny she was supposed to have. She remembers the day that changed it all. Everything.

She clenches her jaw and tries to push down anger and grief, tries to bottle it up, save it for later like May had taught her, but she can’t seem to help it: their faces appear in front of her; younger versions of themselves, happier versions.

They were the closest thing to family she had. But right now that didn’t matter; she couldn’t let it matter. No matter how much she missed them, she had to finish this.

She turns on the engine of the rusty, old van and starts driving. She has to keep moving. If she stops they’ll find her eventually. She can’t risk that. But she’ll risk one thing, she’ll risk one thing for them.

 

* * *

 

“Fitz!”

“What?” he asks and places the books he just unpacked from a box into the brand-new bookshelf before turning around to face her, “Who was that at the door?”

“Mailman,” she says and her voice sounds strangely befuddled.

She’s holding a small square package in her hands.

He wrinkles his forehead, “Who’s that from?”

But something about the look on her face makes him know the answer.

For a while they just stare at the little package on their dining room table that still smells of fresh wood and new beginnings. They stare at the handwriting on the address label, the familiar curved letter shapes.

They look at each other and Jemma grabs the box cutter to cut the tape.

Carefully, she takes out a slim, long object, wrapped in layers and layers of bubble wrap.

Jemma unwraps it, and her movements slow down as it dawns on her what she is holding. She looks at Fitz and can tell that he has recognized it too.

The last piece of bubble wrap drops to the floor, and they stare at the little figurine in Jemma’s hands, the small flower tucked into the doll’s hair, the pink lei around her neck, her slender arms holding a ukulele, the dark green of her hula skirt against the brown color of her skin, her long, slim legs on the black, rock-like pedestal, a single fake flower at her feet.

She has stood the test of time, and yet, she looks so fragile in Jemma’s palms, as if just breathing on her could somehow cause her to crumble to dust.

“Do you think we’ll ever see her again?” Jemma asks, tears in her eyes.

Fitz sighs. His eyes wander from the doll to the package in which it arrived, knowing that wherever it came from, they won’t find her there anymore. He catches a glimpse of a piece of paper in the box and pulls it out.

A hint of a smile appears on his face as he reads the note, “I think we will.”

Jemma looks at the piece of paper that Fitz is holding in front of her and can’t help but smile herself.

> Take good care of her in your new place.
> 
> Love, D.
> 
> P.S. She’s just a loan.


End file.
